


Loss & Refrain

by ExordiumNoctis



Series: The Star & The Eight of Cups [1]
Category: Destiny - Fandom
Genre: Longing, M/M, Towerfall through the eyes of a dead orbit arach, and sad, so much longing, trauma-induced night terrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExordiumNoctis/pseuds/ExordiumNoctis
Summary: Arach Cantor is separated from his family during the events of the Homecoming Mission and makes the trek to safety alone with one thing on his mind: To survive and see them again.Implied Io/Jalaal. Infant mention. Depictions of Violence.704 Words.





	Loss & Refrain

“Akros!”  
His hand is desperate, sweeping as he clutches the broken shell of his Ghost to his chest. He hears the rifle fire twice but doesn’t register his own finger dragging the trigger down until it is done and the Centurion’s helmet goes flying. The body crumbles to the broken concrete and Io staggers against a wall as the Light, in all of it’s infinite worth, leaves his body.   
At first it feels like suffocation and he’s a gasping mess falling to his knees, digging for purchase on the wall with his free hand. Afterwards it is simply dizziness and he doesn’t realize he’s fallen all the way until the pavement is against his cheek and the broken breastplate of his armor is digging into his ribs. He hears Akros call from the cage of Io’s fingers and with trembling hands he lifts the rifle again, blurry-eyed as he messily dispatches another Legionnaire.   
“Did they make it out?”   
His Ghost’s voice seems a million miles away. “The Commander said all shuttles were away, but.. The Light-- Io, it’s gone.”   
“I felt it,” He groans, sends his shattered helmet scattering into a nearby stall as he uses his rifle to get to his feet. “It’s hard to breathe.”   
“I know. I… I don’t think I can bring you back, if you die.”   
Io falls silent, stares down the street lined with rubble and bodies and he swallows down the fear that threatens to drown him. “We’ll be careful but... We need to get out of here.”  
“Head north.” 

So north they go.   
For three solid days they walk following that star like a set of pre-Golden Age sailors and all he finds is ruin and death. He knew the men and women in that pass, had given them some of those armor pieces himself. They were good people, strong people, and he mourns them in the only way he knows how.   
He gathers their marks, their cloaks and their bonds; he tucks them away in the small pack he has remaining on his right hip; and he continues north.   
Exhaustion catches him on the fifth day and his consciousness fails him. He knows this because he dreams of Evzen’s tiny fingers against his cheek, of the morning light streaming in through their apartment window as Mika shuffles about making breakfast. He can hear the soft, raspy baritone of his voice over the quiet hiss of grease in a pan and Evzen smells like warmth when he presses a kiss to the infant’s temple.   
It’s the ring of a sniper round echoing off the trees that drags him from the haze of sleep and he stumbles, slides down an incline in his half-awake clumsiness before finding his feet again and running. He isn’t sure what from but now isn’t the time to chance whether something is friend or foe and he swears he can hear another Guardian yell through the din of the forest before a monstrous roar shakes the very air. There’s a cry, the whine of a war beast dying, and then silence.   
“We should see--”   
“No, Akros.” He’s panting now, finally slowing down even though he’s still wired to run. “We can’t afford to.” 

Eight days have passed when he finally finds another living Guardian. They take him to a camp-- affectionately called The Farm, and Io manages to eat three bites of bread and drink half a ration of water before he drifts off on a cot in the barn.   
He dreams of them again. This time they are on a ship and the vastness of space swirls around them like a great sparkling maw. Evzen has his little palms pressed to the glass where he sits between them and Mika’s hand is ever so faint against Io’s lower back. *It is beautiful*, he says, and it sounds like an apology.   
When Io turns to face him everything changes and he wakes screaming with the vision of skull shards and viscera painting a concrete wall and the residual weight of a tiny corpse in his hands.   
*You can’t protect them,* a voice taunts, and he curls into the makeshift bed as if to make himself smaller against the apparition. *You never could.*


End file.
